


Screams

by TeddyTR



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, jellyfish poison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:57:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyTR/pseuds/TeddyTR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His screams filled the empty corridors. Sherlock sat in front of the door. He had to get out. He had to learn how to breathe again. John was strong, he endured for almost half a day, but everyone would start screaming eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screams

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very special fic, featuring a very special animal, which happens to be my dear beta's favourite, so again, special thanks to tkinga and her beloved jellyfish, for inspiring me.

His screams filled the empty corridors. Sherlock sat in front of the door. He had to get out. He had to learn how to breathe again. It was a good thing that the whole floor was abandoned, thanks to Mycroft. John would have hated to let others see (hear) him in this state. Sherlock was glad too. This way, no one saw him choke on tears quietly as a new wave of anguished howls rose up from the room. John was strong, he endured for almost half a day, but everyone would start screaming eventually. Sherlock took a deep breath and stepped back into the room. 

***

„Sherlock, there is really no need-”

„John, it’s your birthday, right?”

„Yes, but I don’t think it’s-”

„Important? Well, I might not understand the point of celebrating such an event, but we have crossed enough rules of the society, don’t you think? Especially yesterday, that was quite nasty.” Sherlock grinned at the memory. John, on the other hand, chose to turn bright red. 

„Come on, it’s just a dinner. We’ve done that a thousand times before.”

„Yeah, but not like this,” John said, looking around sheepishly.

„Look, I’ve done some research-”

„Oh, tell me you didn’t google ’how to celebrate birthdays’!”

„Erm… I did.”

„God.”

„It sounded perfectly logical. ’Take your loved one to somewhere romantic.’”

„Sherlock, this is a love hotel.”

„Yeah, well, I googled ’somewhere romantic’…” 

John stared at him for a second and then burst into laughter. It was Sherlock’s turn to get embarrassed.

„If you don’t like it, we can go home.”

„No, no, it’s fine, it’s… perfect.” After a little pause, he added „Thank you.”

„It’ s nothing,” Sherlock mumbled with a content smile. „Wine?”

„Yes, thanks. What about you?”

„I don’t drink.”

„Ah, right. Then, cheers.” 

John took a sip from his wine and observed their table once again. It was quite a feast, served neatly. Sherlock had already started picking food from the plates. Despite what everyone thought, he loved eating. John watched with a smile as he lifted everything to his nose. Sherlock never ate anything that smelled bad. Once, John put some of his favorite camembert into sandwiches and offered it to Sherlock. The other man threw the whole plate out of the window. And the window was closed. 

John chuckled and was about to start his meal when he noticed an envelope near his plate.

„You’ve bought a card too?” 

Sherlock froze and looked up at him. „No.” 

John frowned and looked at the envelope again. On the outside, his name was written with neat handwriting. He opened it and pulled out the card. It was a cheerful one, with a clown. As he read, John felt colour leaving his face.

„What is it?” Sherlock’s voice was tense. John couldn’t answer.

„John?” 

With a low growl, Sherlock ripped the card out of his hands and read it.

Dear Johnny! Do you like marine animals? I was in Australia for business and brought this very very very very very tiny present for you. Enjoyed your wine? Happy birthday! Sherlock, have a nice nightmare! Love: Jim

Sherlock looked up to see John staring at his glass.

„What the hell was in that…” he whispered. The motors roared up in Sherlock’s brain. Marine animal, small size, Australia, must be some poison, no taste, nightmare… He inhaled sharply. John’s head snapped up.

„Tell me.”

„I can’t be sure…”

„Sherlock!”

„Poison, obviusly.”

„I figured that, but you already know the type!”

„Yes, but first.” With shaking hands, Sherlock dialed.

„Mycroft? Yes… No, no, listen, I don’t have time for this. I need a hospital… now… okay than the second floor. Send your best doctors… I think less than thirty minutes.” He shoved his phone into his pocket and pulled a shocked John up.

„Come, hurry.”

„Okay, okay, but can you explain-”

„It’s a cubozoan’s poison, my guess would be the irukandji, considering that we’re speaking about Moriarty.” Sherlock interrupted, while they rushed down the stairs of the hotel.

„Cubo-what?”

„Jellyfish, John. Australia is famous for its poisonous fauna. The card said marine animal, but that too leaves hundreds of possibilities. He highlighted the size, so it must be the key. And the smallest poisonous animal in the world happens to be a jellyfish, living in the oceans of Australia.”

„The iru-something?”

„Irukandji. Precisely. Plus, the mentioning of the nightmares means it won’t be a simple infection. It matches the symptoms of irukandji syndrome.”

„Why? What are the symptoms?” 

Sherlock hesitated, as they jumped into a cab.

„Severe headache, backache, muscle pains, chest and abdominal pain, nausea and vomiting, anxiety hypertension, tachycardia and pulmonary edema,” he jabbered.

„That… contains a lot of pain.”

„No pain medication worked until today. And no antidote either. Patients are said to experience a nightmare of long and painful suffering which they usually mistake for dying.”

„It’s not fatal then?”

„No, generally not.”

„Okay, that’s a good thing.”

„John!” Sherlock turned to him with eyes widened in horror. „His intention is not to kill you! He could have poisoned you with cyanide or anything if he wanted to! Instead, you’ll experience unbelievable pain and there’s nothing I can do.”

„Come on, it can’t be that bad.” John tried to sound confident, but his voice remained weak. Sherlock didn’t know what to say. Seeing John’s eyes harden with determination made his heart sting. It’s not my first encounter with pain, I can manage his face said.

„Thirty minutes?”

„What?”

„You said ’less than thirty minutes’ to Mycroft. That’s how much I have until the symptoms show?”

„I called him three minutes after you drank from the wine, we’re in the cab for eight minutes now, so that leaves you nineteen minutes, at the best.” John nodded sharply. He had already put himself in his soldier-mode. Sherlock loved this when they were on a hunt. He thought John was amazing as he concentrated both his body and mind on one challenge and accomplished it with precise perfection. This time, Sherlock found it heart-wrecking instead. 

„We’re here.” He managed to press through his tensed lips.

„How long?” John asked, voice indifferent now, while they paced into the hospital where Mycroft’s men had been waiting for them.

„Four to thirty hours, but the complete recovery might take up to two weeks.” Another soldier-nod. Sherlock winced. Fifteen minutes.

Doctors surrounded them. Sherlock explained the situation while John was shepherded into a prepared room. The floor was cleared out, their voices were the only ones.

After five minutes, John laid in the bed, a nurse set the monitors beside him and Sherlock sat on an old, white armchair, watching his flat mate closely.

Two more minutes and John’s face twitched.

„John?”

„It’s okay.” He said, but his clenched fist betrayed him.

„It’s time!” Sherlock shouted to the doctor behind him.

„We’ve prepared morphine, fentanyl and some antihistamines, we should start with-”

„Not yet,” John interrupted firmly.

„John!”

„We’d better skimp the medication if there’s a possibility that it will take more than twenty-four hours.”

„But-”

„The Doctor might be right.” 

Sherlock turned to the miserable idiot that cut in his words.

„Shut up.”

„Sherlock, he is my doctor!”

„No, he’s Mycroft’s doctor, hence an idiot.”

„I could wait outside, if you prefer.” 

„Yes, I would prefer that.”

„That was rude.”

„I don’t care.”

„… Sherlock, I… I’m afraid it won’t be a nice sight, but don’t worry, okay? I won’t die so it’s fine.”

„How can you even say that?! Of course I’ll worry! I am worried at the moment!”

„What happened with the cool, I-don’t-give-a-damn Sherlock Holmes?”

„John Watson, that what’s happened with him. And I tell you, there’s no cure for it.” John chuckled, but grasped his stomach at same moment. His laugh came out as a groan.

„John!”

„I think we can start now,” he choked out.

***  
John had to admit, he had never felt such pain before. It was different from a gunshot. The gunshot burned, this… this dug into his muscles and ate them up, munching slowly. Nothing fatal he kept repeating to himself, as fear settled in his stomach. 

But the worst thing was not the fear and definitely not the pain. It was Sherlock. Sherlock’s face when the first spasm came. His eyes as he watched over him. John tried to tell him to go out, go away until it’s over. Obviously, he refused. So he sat there, while John did his best to swallow down the growing screams in his throat. No screams. But everyone would start screaming eventually. In the end (but after long hours) John lost it too. His consciousness was kind enough to stay, well partly. His whole mind was occupied with pain except from a little section which worriedly noted Sherlock’s every expression. They were both suffering badly, and ironically enough, it had nothing to do with the muscle pain.

Four or five hours’ memory was all white for John. After then, short periods of peace came, becoming more and more frequent. John didn’t know if he was unconscious in the mean time or his brain was too busy with pain to concentrate on anything else, but when his vision cleared as the aching faded a bit, Sherlock was always there. He looked terrible. John tried to talk to him, comfort him, reassure him, but he hardly managed. 

Almost over he told himself, almost over and I can put him back together. 

***  
Sherlock’s brain fought a desperate battle to keep his sanity. John’s screams literally burned his ears, his chest, his whole body. The phrase ’my heart is aching’ gained a new meaning for him. His heart was lying on a bed and suffering greatly in front of him and he couldn’t do a thing to help him. He had to admit, Moriarty found a brilliant way to torture him. And what’s more, he did it on his birthday. Sherlock felt his rage rising. He waited for this for so long. Planned it weeks before, did the research, looked up the perfect place, picked a present… he didn’t even get the chance to give it to John. How dare anyone take this day from him? From John? He will pay for this.

A groan tore Sherlock away from his thoughts of revenge. Another spasm was starting. He closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to hold John’s hand so badly. Touching would cause more pain one part of his mind said. He’s suffering, hold him close you idiot! said the other. He allowed himself light strokes from time to time as John seemed to calm a bit when he felt he was there. He tried to send him away, John was John after all, but no force on earth could make Sherlock move. The short breaks he took was for hiding the tears from John. He knew he was watching him. Of course he would. Even in this state, John cared only for him. 

Sherlock cried four times in his life. Three of them was in connection with a certain doctor. He wasn’t sure how to count this one. His sobs came quite frequently, a new one rising just when he thought it was finally over. Let’s say it’s one. That makes five times then. He noted sourly after getting back to the room.

After eight hours and thirty-two minutes since they got in the hospital, John’s spasms started to fade. It was a slow procedure, but his condition was unquestionably improving. Sherlock felt so relieved he even started annoying Mycroft’s damned doctor, who he chose to ignore before.

After five hours and twenty-six minutes of unconsciousness (or something like that), John came around for the first time. Sherlock leaned closer quickly, brushing his flat mate’s hand to grab his attention.

“John.”

“…Fine…” John breathed in response.

“You will be. The worst is over.” 

John let out a groan of frustration which scared the hell out of Sherlock.

“What? What is it? Another one? John?”

“…You.”

“Me?”

“…Fine?” Sherlock stared at him with wide eyes. It took him several seconds to comprehend.

“John! It’s not the time to worry about me.” 

Another growl-like sound.

“Okay-okay, I’m fine, or to be more precise, I will be, when you stop asking stupid questions and go back to sleep.” 

Fascinatingly enough, John had the power to frown at him before he dozed off. 

Just a few waves of pain came afterwards and the painkillers worked well on the weakened spasms. John came around several times, but sank back to a restless sleep almost right away, due to medication and exhaustion. 

After nine hours and eleven seconds Sherlock decided it was okay to gently hold John’s hand. It felt like sucking in a deep breath after a long time underwater. Like things finally connected (literally). He closed his eyes and listened to John’s even breathing contently.

***  
As John slowly regained consciousness he felt his every muscle sorely aching. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled. There was a slight movement on his side, then a low chuckle. He forced his eyes open. Sherlock looked back at him, looking weary, but with a little smile on his face. It was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.

“Whasso funny?” he croaked out, acting grumpy, but returning the smile.

“I’ve never heard you swear before. I mean anything other than ‘hell’.”

“Well, I feel like a fucking piece of crap.” The words felt alien to John’s mouth, but his reward was another chuckle so it was absolutely worth it.

“Water?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, please.” 

After taking a few sips, John felt his eyelids getting heavy again.

“Oh, come on, not yet…” he mumbled, fighting to stay with Sherlock a little more.

“It’s only natural, John, you’re body is exhausted and full of painkillers.”

“But I… wanna go home…”

“That high-functioning chimpanzee said you can be dismissed tomorrow.”

“Who?”

“The one who calls himself a doctor.”

“Sherlock… you were nice, weren’t you?”

“Erm… define nice.” 

It was John’s turn to chuckle. “Just… don’t kill… him.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I would have to hunt him down, but I’m not moving from here.”

John felt a smile spreading on his face before darkness embraced him once again.

***

“John?”

“Hm?”

“Are you comfortable?”

“Mmm.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mmm.”

“John, erm, was that a yes?” 

John laughed into Sherlock’s chest. He was still bedridden and couldn’t bear any longer that the other man kept sitting on the ground beside him so he ordered him into the bed. Despite of Sherlock’s worried mumbling about causing pain, he didn’t have to say twice.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine like this,” he said and felt Sherlock’s sigh in his hair.

“John?” 

“Hm?”

“I… I couldn’t give you your present.”

“My what?”

“Your birthday present. People give presents for birthdays, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do.”

“So I got one for you.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

“You can give me later, don’t stand up, please.”

“Um, it’s here, in my pocket.” 

John looked up surprised. Sherlock met his eyes, but turned his head almost instantly and blushed. As he pulled it out, the something clanked like metal. He placed it into John’s hand.

“It’s!” John turned to his back to observe it closer.

“A dog-tag, yeah. Since you gave yours to me, which I wear all the time by the way.” Sherlock lifted the dog-tag mentioned from his chest to prove it. “Read the label.”

“The Heart of Sherlock Holmes. Handle with care.” John read out loud. He looked up to a nervous Sherlock. 

“Do you like i-“ He couldn’t finish as John leaned in to kiss him.

“John… was that a yes?”

“Of course, you idiot,” John teased. “I like it a lot,” he added in a soft voice as he put the dog-tag on.

“I’m glad.” Sherlock sounded relieved; his smile almost reached his ears.

As they settled back into their previous position, John clenched on his new dog-tag with a content sigh.

“Happy birthday, John,” he heard Sherlock whisper into his hair as he dozed off into a very enjoyable dream.


End file.
